#blithe washington

[miyukihoshizora]

The first train away from hell

[unsafescapewolf]

Warm-up doodle lol

[ukatoyaki]

A final batch of characters. Now to write what they all do

[causticbotanist]

Masterpiece

Rhythm smoke room

[blueskrugs]

I Love You (It's Ruining My Life) | Nick Blankenburg

this is a christmas fic. in july. for demi @wyattjohnston's birthday. which was in june. does the earliness of one make up for the lateness of the other? uh. happy birthday/happy holidays, I guess? fear of commitment / secret admirer / stranded / high school sweethearts / exes to lovers length: 6.4k words

Nick Blankenburg is the boy Olivia will never get over. 

There’s a framed photo in her mother’s living room from seven years ago of Nick and Olivia at senior prom. Nick’s tie and boutonniere matched Olivia’s red Sherri Hill dress and corsage. In her heels, she was a couple of inches taller than him. Olivia sees it, sees them nestled in between the rest of their family photos, every time she’s home. She loved that photo; Nick is smiling softly at her, hand on her hip as she laughs at something one of her friends was doing off-camera. There’s a blooper of that photo, of Nick making faces to keep Olivia laughing, because “her smile is better that way.” That was her phone lock screen for months after that day. 

Sometimes she wishes she could hide that picture frame now, or throw it into the fireplace and watch it burn.

But that would be dramatic. 

Dramatic like Nick breaking up with her two months after high school graduation, saying he needed time to “figure some things out.” Dramatic like Nick hardly talking to her for weeks before he dumped her, after they’d been dating for three years. 

Olivia had cried for weeks. Nick had been her first boyfriend, her first love. Washington was a small town, and almost everyone Olivia knew had married their high school sweetheart and settled down. She’d thought that would be her and Nick, too, until Nick decided to set his sights on bigger things. 

Olivia pretended to get over it and moved to Ann Arbor in the fall. Nick seemed like he was always over it, and he moved to Detroit to join Victory Honda. 

Olivia threw everything she had into school. She joined a sorority, joined clubs, started coaching a local girls’ soccer team. She was doing well.

By the time she was in her third year and one of her sorority sisters was telling her about the cute overage freshman named Nick who had joined the Michigan hockey team, Olivia is doing her best impersonation of a girl who finally got over her high school boyfriend.

It doesn’t stop her from dropping her phone on her face when her friend Paige leans over from her perch on the end of Olivia’s bed to show her the newest member of the hockey team. Nick Blankenburg’s smiling face stares back at Olivia from Paige’s phone screen.

“It says he’s from Washington, d’you know him?” Paige asks, oblivious. She’s already resumed scrolling.

“Yeah, uh,” Olivia says. “I think we went to high school together.”

“Oh, cool,” Paige says, continuing her blithe scrolling again. 

Olivia thinks that’s the end of it. Hopes it’s the end of it. She doesn’t frequent hockey games these days, and since Nick spent two years in juniors instead of heading straight to Michigan, it’s unlikely they’ll be crossing paths on campus any time soon. 

Then the football game against Ohio State rolls around. Olivia’s boyfriend Austin had traveled from Ohio to Michigan for Thanksgiving with Olivia’s family, and he stuck around through the weekend to go to the game at The Big House. Austin sticks out like a sore thumb, decked in all red, in a sea of maize and blue, but he good naturedly kisses Olivia at kickoff, ignoring the jeers of the crowd around them. 

Michigan loses. It’s a bit of a blowout. 

Someone from the next section over shouts something at Austin. He turns to shout back, tightening his arm around Olivia’s waist as they try to make their way out of the stadium with the rest of the crowd. Olivia’s not sure who starts it, but someone starts shoving. Olivia gets caught in the middle of it, jostled to the side as a fight starts. There’s more yelling. Someone pushes Olivia from behind, then from the side, and she falls. 

Or, starts to fall, until someone catches her. It’s oddly reminiscent of the time Olivia met Austin, at another Ohio State versus Michigan football game her freshman year, and someone had bumped into him, causing him to spill a soda on Olivia. 

She looks up into the face of the hands that caught her. “Nick?” she blurts. Nick’s grip on her elbows gets tighter, before he realizes he’s squeezing and lets go. He helps Olivia to her feet again. The crush of the crowd shoves them together, and Nick’s hands slide to Olivia’s hips to steady her. She’s still staring at him in awe, as if she’s never seen him before. 

Nick still hasn’t said anything. Through the crowd, someone takes Olivia’s hand. Austin. She turns to find him, following as he tugs her away from Nick. 

“Who was that?” Austin asks, leaning in close to speak in Olivia’s ear. Olivia cranes her neck around, but Nick’s lost to the crowd again. 

“No one,” Olivia says. “It was no one.” She’s not sure if she’s trying to convince herself or Austin. 

It seems impossible to continue to avoid Nick around Ann Arbor after that. Michigan’s campus has never felt so small. She sees him in the library, studying intently with his headphones on. She sees him walking across campus, always with a few other rowdy hockey players. She sees him waiting in line for coffee at Sweetwaters in the student union. Nick tries to talk to her, once. 

They were crossing paths on campus, and Nick reached out a hand. He was alone, for once.

“Liv, hey,” he’d started. Olivia takes a second to look at him properly for the first time. He’s grown up a little since they left high school, but he still looks like the same sweet Nick she used to know. She pulls her arm away from him.

“I’m late for a class, sorry,” she said. She was heading in the opposite direction of the Education building, and she thought Nick might know that. She walked away before Nick could get another word in. He never tried to talk to her again after that. They share smiles every once in a while; Olivia’s always feel fake.

The years pass. Olivia graduates, gets a job as a fourth grade teacher in Detroit. Austin moves in with her. She finally stops thinking about Nick.

When Nick signs with the Columbus Blue Jackets, Paige takes the liberty of forwarding every single Instagram post about him to Olivia. Olivia FaceTimes Paige just so she can flip her off. Paige spends the next year and a half making it her personal responsibility to keep Olivia updated on her ex-boyfriend—every injury, every goal, every time he’s sent back down to the AHL. 

Olivia tries not to pay any attention to it. Keyword: tries. 

Austin and Olivia drive back down to Ohio a few days before Christmas to visit his family in Columbus. Olivia very carefully doesn’t mention that Nick had been called up a few weeks back the entire drive. It had caused a fight, once, when she mindlessly dropped into a conversation about the Blue Jackets that she knew Nick. She’s never talked about him around Austin again. 

Later that night, when Olivia is standing on the curb outside of Austin’s parents’, her bag by her feet, tears drying on her cheeks in the freezing air, she’s briefly grateful for Paige’s incessant updates on Nick. At least she knows that the only person she knows in this awful city isn’t actually two hours away in Cleveland. She pulls out her phone with shaky hands. 

God, she hopes Nick hasn’t changed his phone number. 

The phone rings for so long that Olivia thinks Nick won’t answer. She swears under her breath and starts to pull her phone away from her ear to call an Uber instead when she hears a muffled, “Hello?” on the other end of the line. It sounds like she woke him. 

“Nick?” Olivia asks. A car drives by, kicking up dirty slush, and Olivia flinches. There’s a moment of silence. “You know what, never mind, I’ll just—” Olivia goes to hang up the phone again, but Nick cuts her off.

“Liv? Hang on, what’s wrong?” There’s shuffling on Nick’s end of the call. He sounds wide awake now. “Where are you, are you in trouble?”

“Can you come pick me up?” Olivia whispers. 

“Text me your address, I’ll be right there.” Nick hangs up.

Olivia’s numb by the time a car pulls up to the curb in front of her. A familiar figure jumps out of the driver’s seat and runs around the front of the car to pull Olivia into a tight hug. Olivia lets herself hug Nick back for a brief second, before he’s pulling away again and reaching for her suitcase.

“Liv, it’s freezing, what the hell are you doing standing out here?” he asks. He ushers her to the passenger seat and throws her suitcase in the back of the car. The heat’s blasting, and Olivia thinks Nick turned on the seat warmer for her. Her teeth are chattering. 

Nick pulls away from the curb. Olivia settles back and lets the suburbs of Columbus turn into a blur outside the windows. Nick allows her to wallow in silence for a few minutes before he turns to Olivia at a red light.

“You didn’t tell me what happened, or why you needed me to pick you up in the middle of the night from the fucking Columbus suburbs,” Nick says. He doesn’t sound angry, just worried. Washed in the red glow of the stoplight, Olivia can see the way his eyebrows crease. 

“Never gave me a chance,” Olivia manages. Nick shoots her an unimpressed look, but the light turns green again, saving Olivia from Nick’s gaze. 

Nick’s CarPlay is softly playing Taylor Swift on shuffle. Olivia lets it cycle through a few songs before she speaks again.

“Austin and I broke up,” Olivia says. 

Nick, to his credit, doesn’t ask who Austin is. Olivia’s pretty sure he never unfollowed her on Instagram. He’s probably seen all of her sappy posts from the last six years. 

Nick just clicks his tongue and says, “Sorry, Liv, that’s shitty.”

Neither of them say anything else for the rest of the drive to Nick’s apartment. Olivia gawks out the window as they approach what is, apparently, Nick’s building.

“What?” Nick asks, pulling carefully into a spot in the parking garage.

“Nick, this is bougie as hell.” Olivia has never felt so far from Washington, Michigan in her life.

Nick shrugs as he puts his car in park and climbs out. He pulls Olivia’s suitcase out before opening her door for her. “It’s not that fancy.”

Olivia smacks him on the chest. She’s struck, suddenly, at how solid Nick’s become now that they’ve grown up. Now that they don’t know each other. The reminder of how different they are, how far they’ve come since high school, shocks Olivia into silence as she follows Nick up the elevator and to his apartment door.

He shoots her another worried look over his shoulder as he unlocks the door. “Are you sure you’re okay? Are you still cold?” He pulls Olivia by the wrist across the threshold and over to his couch. He turns on the gas fireplace, which Olivia raises her eyebrows at.

“Not that fancy,” she murmurs. Nick’s still bustling around, turning his heat up, disappearing into his bedroom and re-emerging with an armful of blankets, dressed in sweats and a ratty Michigan T-shirt. He throws a blanket at Olivia’s face. She rips it off, sputtering, before she realizes what it is. “You still have this?” she asks, incredulous.

The blanket in question is a T-shirt blanket, emblazoned all over with Romeo High School—dozens of Nick’s high school T-shirts, cut up and quilted together by Olivia’s mom after they had graduated. Olivia has a matching one, laid across the foot of her bed back in Detroit. 

Nick looks sheepish for the first time since he picked up Olivia. “My mom, uh, helped me move in here, and she wanted to make sure I was never cold, I guess.”

The blanket looks worn, like it’s been used and washed dozens of times since they were eighteen. Olivia doesn’t call Nick out on it. 

Nick settles on his couch next to Olivia. “I’m, uh, driving home first thing in the morning if you want to come with,” he says awkwardly.

Olivia chuckles wryly. “Not like I’ve got anywhere else to go,” she says. Her mother is going to be so shocked when Olivia shows up on the doorstep in the morning. Olivia was supposed to come back from Ohio with a ring on her finger, not lugging back a broken heart. 

“Oh. Right,” Nick says. They lapse into stiff silence, until Nick yawns.

“You don’t have to stay up on my behalf,” Olivia says.

Nick looks over at her. “Nah, I’m fine.” 

He pulls out his phone, so Olivia does the same, content to scroll in silence for a while. Until Nick starts laughing quietly at something on his phone. Olivia stretches out and pokes him in the thigh with her toes.

“What’s so funny?”

Nick locks his phone sheepishly. “Nothing.” When Olivia raises her eyebrows at him, he relents. “Kent keeps sending me these tweets about me, they’re kinda funny, I guess.” 

Olivia feels her heart skip a beat, but she tries to mask it. She nudges Nick with her foot again. “Tweets about you? I need to see these.”

Nick blushes and tries to hold his phone farther out of Olivia’s reach. Her eyes narrow. That’s as good as a challenge, in her mind. Before she can think better of it, Olivia lunges across the couch for Nick’s phone. Nick jerks back, laughing, but Olivia manages to grab ahold of his wrist. 

“Liv,” Nick says, but then they’re wrestling for the phone. Nick’s still laughing. Olivia’s struck, again, at how much bigger Nick is than when they were still in high school. In the scuffle, Olivia ends up halfway in Nick’s lap, but she’s also successfully clutching Nick’s phone in her hand.

Olivia says a quick prayer that Nick is too sentimental to change his phone passcode. (It’s his mom’s birthday.) Nick half-heartedly swipes at the phone as it clicks unlocked.

God bless Karin Blankenburg. 

“Liv, c’mon, you don’t—” 

Olivia isn’t sure what the next words out of Nick’s mouth are going to be, because she cuts him off by bursting into laughter. She’s swiping quickly through the photo gallery in Nick’s message thread with Kent Johnson. Tweet screenshot, tweet screenshot, random golf photo, another tweet screenshot. They’re mostly innocuous, or vaguely thirsty, or rants about how Nick is underrated by the Blue Jackets organization and how he should get more playing time.

“Liv, what’s so funny?” Nick complains. He sounds put-out, and Olivia glances up from his phone to look at his face. He’s blushing again.

“Nick, like half of these tweets are mine.” From an anonymous Twitter account no one in her life knows about. Nick gapes at her. “I thought I had it locked down, but I guess some have slipped through.” She should check to make sure that account is still private, actually. Nick gapes at her. “What?” Olivia asks. Satisfied, she locks Nick’s phone and hands it back. 

 “I didn’t know you still paid any attention to me,” Nick says. Olivia hasn’t moved from her position in Nick’s lap. 

“A lot of it has been against my will,” Olivia admits. A lot of her tweets were posted under the influence, as well. Nick raises an eyebrow in question. “My friend, Paige, has made it her personal mission to give me a play-by-play of your entire career. Guess I was more invested than I thought.” 

Nick’s gaping at Olivia again. She wishes he wouldn’t look at her like that. She shifts uncomfortably back to her end of the couch.

Nick doesn’t say anything.

“Hey, uh, do you mind if I use your shower?” Olivia asks, trying desperately to break the awkward silence she has created. “I’m still a little cold.” In truth, she’s warmed up a bit, but she doesn’t think she could bear to sit in the same room as Nick for another moment. 

Nick seems to shake himself. “Oh, yeah, of course.” He points towards his bedroom. “The, uh, bathroom’s through there. There should be a couple extra clean towels and stuff in the closet. Use whatever.”

As Olivia stands to root through her luggage for a change of clothes and her toiletry bag, Nick does the same but slips into the kitchen. Olivia feels a tightness in her chest she didn’t realize was there ease. She sighs. 

When Olivia emerges from the shower twenty minutes later, smelling of Nick’s soap and only feeling marginally more like herself, Nick’s still hiding in the kitchen. He’s eating Christmas cookies, and he looks sheepish when he sees Olivia, like he’s a little kid caught sneaking into the cookie jar.

“Are those your mom’s cookies?” Olivia asks. Karin’s Christmas cookies were practically legendary back home in Washington. Olivia has missed them every year since Nick broke up with her.

Nick smiles. “Yeah, she sent me some a few days ago.” Olivia doesn’t bother pointing out that he’ll be home the next day. He holds the Tupperware out to Olivia. “D’you want one?”

“Is that even a question?” Olivia says, snatching the Tupperware. She slides onto the stool next to Nick at the counter, digging for a gingerbread cookie. Nick’s knee nudges hers. “These are the best cookies I’ve ever had. I thought I would die without ever having them again.”

Nick chuckles and gently slides the Tupperware away from Olivia. “That’s a little dramatic.” At Olivia’s skeptical look, he continues, “My mom loves you. She would make you cookies if you asked.” 

Olivia takes another bite of her cookie instead of responding. Olivia’s on her fourth cookie when Nick yawns. 

“Dude, go to bed,” Olivia tells him. Nick opens his mouth to protest again. “You’re the one driving back to Michigan tomorrow, and I’m obviously keeping you up. Go to bed.”

Nick rolls his eyes but gives in. “Fine, I’ll see you in the morning.”

The door to his bedroom is shut before Olivia can figure out what happened. 

Later, Olivia’s most of the way to sleep when Nick’s door creaks open again. Olivia hears Nick’s quiet footsteps as he creeps over to the couch Olivia’s laying on. She cracks her eyes open.

“Sorry,” Nick whispers. “I just wanted an extra blanket.” 

There’s four blankets Olivia isn’t using piled at the end of the couch. Nick carefully pulls one off. In the dim light, Olivia watches as he wraps it around his shoulders like a cape. She shuts her eyes again as Nick’s footsteps recede. 

“Liv?” Nick whispers. Olivia can barely hear him.

“What, Nick?” 

“I thought you hated me,” he says.

“I could never hate you,” Olivia murmurs sleepily. She’s asleep before Nick's door even shuts again. 

The next morning, Nick’s up early. Olivia groans and rolls over, burying her face in one of Nick’s throw pillows. She rolls back over when the scent of fresh eggs and toast reaches her nose.

“You made breakfast?” she asks.

“Yeah,” Nick replies, the duh implied. “Come over here, and eat while it’s still hot.”

Olivia reluctantly drags herself off the couch and takes her place at the counter next to Nick. Nick’s knee bumps hers again as he slides a plate towards her.

“No coffee?” Olivia jokes.

“We can stop for Starbucks before we hit the road.” 

For some reason, Olivia wasn’t expecting that answer. She can’t come up with a witty response, so she eats her breakfast in silence.

Nick clears both of their plates when they’ve finished, starts the dishwasher, wipes nonexistent crumbs off the countertop. Olivia looks around Nick’s apartment. It’s pretty much spotless, except for the nest of blankets Olivia left on the couch. Nick’s bags are packed and stacked next to Olivia’s by the front door. The apartment’s nice, but it doesn’t feel lived in. Olivia guesses it really isn’t much, since Nick’s been grinding down in Cleveland most of the season. 

“Ready?” Nick asks, jolting Olivia out of her thoughts.

“Yeah, sure, just lemme—” grab my bags, is what she was going to say, but Nick’s already hefting his duffel bag over his shoulder and grabbing the handle of Olivia’s suitcase. “Uh, yeah, let’s go.”

Nick leads the way back down to his car. Olivia watches as he tosses their bags in the trunk, then steps over to the passenger door to open it for Olivia. When he slides into the driver’s seat, he tosses his phone to Olivia. 

“Order yourself some Starbucks,” he says. “My order’s marked as a favorite, add that in, too.” 

Olivia sticks her tongue out at Nick as she unlocks his phone. “Like I would not order you something.”

She taps in her order while Nick drives to the nearest Starbucks. He makes a face when he hands Olivia her drink.

“How do you even drink that? Is there any coffee in there? Also, it’s iced, and it’s December.” Nick takes an appalled drink of his own hot coffee as Olivia sips her own very light, very sweet, and very iced coffee.

“Maybe you’re the one with shitty taste in coffee,” Olivia retorts, zero heat behind her words. When they were still in high school, neither of them drank coffee. Just another thing about Nick that changed without Olivia knowing.

Coffees in hand, they finally get on the road towards Michigan for real. Olivia had slept poorly on Nick’s couch, so she’s looking forward to dozing for a little while. Except, Nick chatters nervously for the first forty-five minutes of the drive. He even drowns out the Christmas playlist (her own) that Olivia cued up on his CarPlay. 

Olivia fights off a yawn. “Nick, you can just ask.”

Nick cuts himself off mid-sentence. “I don’t know what you mean.” Olivia gives him a flat look. Nick blushes and stares out the windshield instead of glancing over again. He sighs. “Why’d you and what’s-his-face break up?”

“Austin,” Olivia replies automatically. She notices Nick shake his head at her. She hesitates. “I thought he was going to propose this week,” she admits.

There’s a pause. “I don’t get it.”

“Austin told me that if I wanted a ring, I’d have to move to Ohio,” Olivia says. 

“What?” Nick asks. His immediate outrage is a little funny. “Liv, I’m sorry, that’s so shitty.” 

Olivia shrugs. “There was a fight about me wanting to stay in Michigan when I graduated a few years ago,” she says. “He never wanted to live in Detroit. I guess I sorta always knew this would happen, and I was just delaying the inevitable.” 

Nick clicks his tongue at her. “You love Michigan. Even in high school, you always talked about how you never wanted to leave.” 

Olivia can’t believe Nick remembers those conversations they had about the future. “I can’t believe you remember that,” she says.

Nick looks away from the highway for a moment to give Olivia a disbelieving look. “Why wouldn’t I remember that?” he asks.

Olivia doesn’t have a good response to that.

They’re both quiet for another few miles. 

“My turn,” Olivia asks, over the sound of The Carpenters playing on the car’s speakers. Nick makes a face, but doesn’t protest. “Why’d you break up with me?”

The question had been plaguing Olivia for years. She had thought she’d finally outrun it, but it followed her all the way to Nick’s car, all the way down I-75 towards Michigan. Maybe if she could get Nick to answer her now, she could finally truly move on. As soon as she could get out of this fucking car, that is. 

Nick sighs. “Liv, that’s not fair.”

“How is that ‘not fair’?” Olivia snaps. “You got to ask me a question, now I’m asking you.”

“Because I never liked that asshole you were dating, and I wanted to know what he did to break your heart.” 

“You never even met Austin!” Olivia says. 

“I didn’t need to,” Nick says. His knuckles are white on the steering wheel. “He got in that fight at the football game, and let you get pushed around.” “Nick, oh my god,” Olivia laughs. “It was a game against Ohio, all kinds of shit gets started at them.”

“He never should have let you fall,” Nick argues.

“Dude, that was like four years ago, how are you still upset about this?”

“He never deserved you,” Nick says.

“You never even met him!” Olivia says again. “And why do you even care so much? You dumped me after graduation.” Nick winces. “Why’d you break up with me, Nick?” she asks again.

“I didn’t want to hold you back,” Nick says,

“Hold me back? From what?” Olivia asks, but Nick talks over her.

“You were going off to Ann Arbor, I wasn’t even going to college.”

Olivia scoffs. “Nick, you moved to Detroit. That’s, like, 45 minutes from Ann Arbor.” Nick shakes his head. “And you ended up at Michigan a few years later, anyway. And you’re literally in the NHL now!”

Nick sighs again. “You’re not getting it, Liv. I worked my ass off to get where I am. I walked on to the team at Michigan. I never should have made it all the way to the NHL, but people took chances on me. I didn’t want you waiting around on some kid who wasn’t even good enough to get a second look from anyone for years. Would you have really wanted to be a senior, dating some stupid sophomore?”

“I don’t know! You never gave me the chance to decide that for myself. I never cared about the hockey, Nick. I just really loved you,” Olivia says quietly. “Wait, we’re literally the same age. Just because you were a sophomore by credits doesn’t somehow make you two years younger than me.” “That’s what you focused on?” Nick asks, but he’s laughing. His face becomes serious again. “I wasn’t ready to start thinking about the future. I was just trying to hold onto hockey for as long as I could back then. I knew everyone expected us to settle down like everyone else in town does, but I couldn’t do that.”

“I did think we would get married one day,” Olivia admits.

“See!” Nick says. “I felt like everyone had this idea, this plan for us, but I wanted to make my own plans. I don’t know, I guess I got scared of the idea of my future being written by someone who wasn’t me.” 

Olivia looks out the window, at the dirty snow along the highway. She thinks she gets it. She had this idea of what a perfect life with Nick would have looked like, and when she didn’t get it, she tried to mold Austin into all the gaps in her life that Nick had left behind.

“We were just kids, Nick,” she says softly. 

Nick chuckles wryly. “And when have you ever known kids to be good at talking about big things?” he asks. 

Olivia has lost track of how long they’ve been driving. She’s not even really sure how far of a drive it is back to home, but Nick seems to know the way. His GPS isn’t even on. They lapse into silence for the duration of another song, then two.

Finally, Nick breaks the silence. “So, now what?”

Olivia huffs out a laugh and scrubs at her face. “Cry. Delete the Pinterest board I had for wedding planning.” 

Nick shoots her a sideways look. “People actually do that?”

Olivia laughs again. This time it’s more real. “Dude, I’ve been working on this board since we were in high school.”

Nick doesn’t respond to that, though his cheeks look a little pink. Olivia wonders if she went too far. Nick had just admitted he had been scared off by everyone basically planning their wedding when they were eighteen. She’s about to open her mouth to apologize, to take it back somehow, when Nick speaks again instead.

“We’ve still got a ways ahead of us, I can shut up so you can get some rest if you want.”

Although Olivia had been planning on napping in the car when this little road trip started, Nick’s sentence makes her sit up straighter. 

“Nicholas, why would I want you to shut up?”

“I don’t know how you don’t hate me, Liv.”

Olivia could smack him. “Would you stop that? I don’t think it’s possible for anyone to hate you, dumbass.”

“But I broke your heart—”

“When we were eighteen! I was never angry at you, Nick, just confused, really.”

Nick falls silent. He’s quiet for long enough that Olivia does start to doze off.

“I missed you more than I hated you,” she whispers before she falls asleep. 

It takes Olivia a moment to reorient herself when she wakes up again. The car has stopped. Nick’s still sitting beside her in the driver’s seat, Christmas playlist still playing over the car’s speakers. Olivia looks blearily out the passenger window.

“This isn’t my house, Nick,” she says warily.

Nick gives her a sheepish look as he pushes open his car door, at the same time the Blankenburgs’ front door opens, and Karin appears.

“My mom wanted to see you,” he says. 

Olivia huffs and pushes her car door open, too. Karin is still standing on the front porch. Nick makes his way up the stairs, but his mom is focused on Olivia as she trails after him.

She reaches to pull Olivia into a hug. “Oh, Livvy, it’s so good to see you.”

Olivia stiffens, but hugs Karin back after a moment. “You too, Mrs. B.” She probably hasn’t seen Nick’s mom since before they broke up. “Merry Christmas.”

“Olivia, you know you can call me Karin.”

Olivia is physically incapable of that, actually, but she grins at Karin, anyway. 

Nick reappears on the front porch. Olivia hadn’t realized he’d stepped inside, but the door wafts all kinds of delicious smells from inside the Blankenburgs’ house as it swings shut. Olivia’s stomach grumbles. They must have driven through lunch.

“Okay, Mom, you got to say hi,” Nick says, stepping to Olivia’s side. “We should let Liv go, I’m sure she wants to see her own family.”

“Oh, they’re already all inside! So are your brother and sister, we’ve just been waiting on you two!” 

“What?” Nick and Olivia ask in unison. They share a bewildered look.

“Well, when you told me you were bringing Livvy home, I just invited her family over for brunch.” Nick and Olivia must still look confused, because she continues, “You know I always make too much food. And right now it’s all getting cold, so c’mon!”

Karin leaves Nick and Olivia on the porch.

Olivia looks sideways at Nick. “D’you think she made cinnamon rolls?” Olivia used to love it when she was allowed to sleep over on Saturday nights (in Katrina’s old room, while Nick slept in his own) and Karin made them fresh cinnamon rolls Sunday morning. 

Nick rolls his eyes, but he grins at Olivia. “All you care about is my mother’s cooking, huh?”

He pulls open the door for Olivia, still grinning. Olivia elbows him as she slips through the front door. She follows the smell of food and sound of laughter down the hall to the Blankenburgs’ formal dining room, Nick trailing after her. Every inch of the house is decked out in Karin’s Christmas decorations, and the dining room is no exception. The only thing Olivia is really focused on, though, is the table, piled high with food, and the two empty chairs at one end that are clearly meant for Nick and Olivia. They share another look, but everyone is waiting for them, so they take their seats. 

Brunch is great, if a little awkward. Nick’s brother and his girlfriend are home, so are Katrina and her husband. It’s nice to catch up with them, in between Karin grilling Olivia on her life over the last seven years. Karin’s cooking is as good as Olivia remembers it. She eats two cinnamon rolls. 

Olivia is in the middle of cuddling Katrina’s little boy when Karin says, “Oh, Livvy, it was such a surprise when Nick told me he was bringing you home. I can’t believe he didn’t tell me you two got back together!”

Nick and Olivia say, “Oh, we’re not—” at the same time Olivia’s mom says, “No, Olivia’s been with Austin, oh, what, six years now?”

An awkward silence falls over the table. Olivia realizes she probably should have told her mom the real reason she was coming home early from Ohio. Nick clears his throat as Olivia pushes her chair back from the table. She hands Katrina her squirming toddler back. 

“Mom,” Nick starts, but Olivia cuts him off.

“You know, Mrs. B, thank you so much for having us all over, but I’m pretty tired. Nick’s couch isn’t the most comfortable to sleep on.”

Nick shoves his chair back, too. “I’ll take you back home, Liv. I’ve still got your bags in my car, anyway.”

Karin stands, too. The dining room suddenly feels too small. She gently takes Olivia by the elbow. “Here, Livvy, let me pack up some leftovers for you.” Olivia follows her to the kitchen.

She overhears Katrina hiss, “You made her sleep on the couch?” as they head into the kitchen. Olivia waits obediently while Karin plies her with Tupperwares of leftovers and Christmas cookies. 

“It really was nice to see you, Livvy,” Karin whispers. “You know you’re always welcome here, remember.” She looks like she wants to say something else, or maybe hug Olivia, but Olivia’s too busy trying not to drop anything. 

“Thanks, Mrs. B,” Olivia whispers back. 

Arms full of food, Olivia bypasses the still-awkwardly silent dining room and sneaks down the hallway to where Nick is waiting for her by the front door. He looks upset, still, but his face relaxes when he sees Olivia. 

“Geez, did my mom give you enough leftovers?” he asks. He takes a few of the Tupperware containers off the top of the stack. When Olivia doesn’t crack a smile at his teasing, his face morphs back into something like concern. “Liv, you okay?” he asks.

Olivia forces a smile. “Yeah, just ready to go home.”

It starts to snow again on the way back to Olivia’s childhood home. Nick doesn’t need a GPS to get there. He pulls into the driveway and puts his car in park. Neither of them make any move to get out of the car. Nick turns the radio off and turns to face Olivia.

“Liv, you okay?” Nicks asks again. 

For the first time since she stood on the freezing curb the night before, Olivia starts to cry. 

“No, I don’t know—” She takes a shaky breath. “When we were together, I used to think I had my whole life figured out, then we broke up, and I was so lost. I started dating Austin, and I could finally see a plan for the future again, and I clung to that idea of a perfect happily ever after with him for so long, but it was all just a lie, and now I’m 26 and single again—”

“Hold on,” Nick interrupts, “26 is not that old, Liv, oh my God.” He sounds like he’s about to laugh, which makes Olivia giggle, too.

“I thought I was going to be married to you by now!” she protests. 

To her surprise, Nick doesn’t shut down. Instead, he laughs for real. “Liv, if you’d married me, you’d still end up living in Ohio, babe.”

Olivia makes a face. Nick laughs harder. “Okay, but, like—” She doesn’t have a good ending to that sentence. In a desperate attempt to avoid Nick’s knowing gaze, she flings open the passenger door and dashes up the front steps to the door.

She distantly hears Nick swear and throw his car door open as well. He runs up the stairs after her, putting himself between Olivia and the door. 

“But what, Liv?” he asks, breathless.

“Nick, I don’t know.” She does know. “I think a part of me always knew Austin wasn’t the right person. I guess, maybe, Ohio wouldn’t be too bad with the right person.”

It’s freezing outside. Nick’s warm breath fans across Olivia’s chilled cheeks. 

“And who’s the right person, Liv?” Olivia doesn’t answer, refuses to meet Nick’s eyes. Nick huffs. He captures Olivia’s chin gently between his finger and thumb and tilts her chin up until she has no choice but to look him in the face. “How ‘bout this: do you think we could try again, Olivia?” he asks. 

Olivia swallows hard. “I don’t know, Nick—”

Olivia thinks about desperately calling Nick the night before when she needed help. Thinks about the blanket her mom made him years ago still laying on his bed every night. Thinks about brunch at the Blankenburgs’, the inexplicable feeling of home, there with her family and Nick’s. 

Thinks about Nick, standing in front of her now.

“They say long-distance can be pretty hard, Blankenburg,” Olivia says. 

Nick scoffs, eyes warm. “Who cares what they say?” Nick’s leaning in now. “Please tell me I can kiss you.”

Olivia laughs and winds her arms around Nick’s neck. “I guess I’ll allow it,” she teases.

“Fuck’s sake,” Nick says under his breath. “You guess.” Then he’s kissing Olivia, both hands tight on her hips, fierce and sweet at the same time, years of unspoken words passing between them.

Olivia makes herself pull away. Nick pouts at her. “Knowing our parents when they get together, we probably have a few hours until Mom and Dad come home.” Nick grins, already knowing what Olivia’s going to say next. “Would you like to come inside?”

Nick kisses Olivia again, quick, before dashing off the front porch to his car. Olivia watches as he hurriedly pulls her bags out of the trunk. 

“Liv, I thought you’d never ask.”

Olivia watches, a smile on her face, as Nick excitedly makes his way back to her. Long-distance may be hard, but with Nick, Olivia thinks it’ll be worth it. Besides, everyone always says that “home is where the heart is,” right? Olivia thinks home is wherever Nick Blankenburg is. And maybe one day, he’ll sign a contract with Detroit, and they’ll both get to come back home to Michigan.

[monicareconstructed]

Pat Barrington.

Pat screamed feminine sex appeal, like 'I AM WOMAN!!' at top decibels.

Not such a happy childhood, and lived the life of a stripper with a few forays into film. But her looks and body - oh, my! I would have loved to have her body in her prime!!

Her web bio:

Pat Barrington was an extremely buxom, curvy, and drop-dead gorgeous blonde topless dancer who popped up in a handful of enjoyably trashy softcore sexploitation features throughout the 1960's, often for producer Harry H. Novak's Boxoffice International Pictures and directed by William Rotsler.

Barrington was born Patricia Annette Bray on October 16, 1939 in Charlotte, North Carolina. Her mother Willie Jo Bray had a fling with a local man named Claude Weidenhause and became pregnant at age sixteen. Weidenhause had already left by the time Barrington was born. Pat moved with her mother Willie Jo to Richmond, Virginia when she was only two years old. Willie Jo married another man, Eugene Lee Barringer. But the marriage was short-lived and Pat found herself moving once again with her mother to Hyattsville, Maryland. Willie Jo subsequently married a former Marine suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder. Upset with the unstable situation at home, Barrington left her mother and went out to fend for herself after her sophomore year in high school.

Pat relocated to Baltimore, Maryland, where she hooked up with an Italian-American mobster named Bob. Barrington got married for the first time in the late 1950's. But Pat soon left her first husband after the relationship became abusive. Bob helped Barrington get back on her feet by securing her a job as an exotic dancer. Pat then made a name for herself in Washington, D.C. dancing under the name of Vivian Storm. Barrington caught the eye of local jazz musician Melvin Rees and moved into Rees's abode in Hyattsville, Maryland in 1959. Pat moved down south with Rees in 1960. Alas, Rees was found guilty of murdering a Virginia family and was sentenced to life in prison.

Barrington moved to Los Angeles, California in 1962 and promptly got a job dancing at the prestigious nightclub The Classic Cat. Pat then decided to pursue a modeling career and subsequently started posing in spreads for various men's magazines as well as numerous commercial layouts. After an ill-advised foray into dancing in Las Vegas, Barrington returned to Los Angeles and resumed her career as a model while still dancing on the side. Pat eventually began auditioning for film work in the mid-1960's. Barrington achieved her greatest cult cinema fame as the female lead in Stephen C. Apostolof's unintentionally hilarious horror camp hoot Orgy of the Dead (1965), in which she also performs one of her patented steamy nude dances as the painted Gold Girl. Barrington had another rare substantial starring part as a bored housewife who works as a high-priced call girl in the seamy Agony of Love (1966). More often, though, the stunning and spectacularly alluring Pat was relegated to secondary roles as a go-go dancer in such delightfully down'n'dirty low-grade fare as Lila (1968), The Girl with the Hungry Eyes (1967) and Sisters in Leather (1969). She appeared as herself in both the lurid mondo item Hedonistic Pleasures (1969) and Russ Meyer's blithely silly documentary Mondo Topless (1966). During this time Barrington was briefly married to cinematographer Robert Caramico.

After calling it quits as an actress, Pat left Los Angeles and moved to New Jersey with a singer named Romeo. Barrington soon found gainful employment dancing in clubs up and down the East Coast under the pseudonym of Princess Jajah. In the mid-1970's Pat branched out into topless dancing. She settled down in Cliffside Park, New Jersey in 1980. Barrington eventually dumped Romeo and became involved with a much younger man named Robert. Pat moved with Robert to Fort Lauderdale, Florida in 1984. Pat worked as a stripper using the name Yvette at assorted seedy clubs throughout Florida. After retiring from dancing in the early 1990's, Barrington went on to work as a telemarketer. In her later years Pat also helped local animal rescue groups (she was a lifelong lover of animals). Barrington died from lung cancer at age 74 on September 1, 2014.

[readingsquotes]

"Intense anti-Arab racism, Islamophobia, and what the Palestinian American intellectual Edward Said described as “Orientalism” has underwritten the West’s perpetual wars, sieges, and onslaughts against the Middle East, wars that America’s client state, Israel, has helped manage for multiple generations. This racism has normalized America’s and Israel’s war crimes in the Middle East.

But this is far more than a simple ideological project. As the largest recipient of U.S. aid in the region, to the tune of more than $3 billion each year, Israel has long been of use to the West as the Zionist project of building a state on the dispossession of the indigenous Palestinian population. The U.S. disguises its geopolitical designs to control access to the region’s oil supply under the guise of rooting out terrorism. Though America’s “war on terror” failed, its afterlife of security theater, surveillance, and abject racist demonization of a perpetual Arab or Muslim “other” lives on.

Soon after Israel began its siege, Joe Biden made a mockery of Palestinian grief and death. “I have no notion that the Palestinians are telling the truth about how many people are killed,” he said, echoing the Israeli government. His statement recognizing 100 days of the war on Gaza made no mention of the thousands of Palestinians whom Israel had killed. More recently, Biden enjoyed an ice cream cone with a late-night talk show host while blithely suggesting the possibility of a cease-fire. A week later, The Washington Post revealed that the United States has quietly delivered 100 weapons packages to Israel over the course of its assault, including thousands of precision-guided munitions, small-diameter bombs, and bunker busters."

[azspot]

You might have already stomached some of the videos of last week’s most harrowing abuses. At the University of Wisconsin, a balding, bespectacled professor face down, two cops pinning his left arm sharply behind his back, and a disabled professor getting her dress torn and suffering internal damage from police strangulation. The 65-year-old former head of Dartmouth’s Jewish studies program who dared scream “What are you doing?” at cops being taken down with a wrestling move that also left her with an arm wrenched behind her back. Then a second cop arriving to keep her pinned as a third looks on blithely, rifle at the ready. (She was suspended by her university for her trouble.) At Washington University in St. Louis, a 65-year-old professor, a Quaker, was told by his doctor he was “lucky to be alive” after absorbing a flying tackle from a very large officer for the sin of filming cops with his cellphone, then being dragged to a nearby patch of grass, writhing, then to a police van, where he fell limp.

The New Anti-Antisemitism

[fandom-geek]

tumblr doesn't want to post this as a link for some reason, but i highly recommend the article "Israeli and Palestinian Societies Have Little Remaining Hope of Peace" by the carnegie endowment for international peace.

most of it will already be familiar to anyone who's spent time reading up on palestine/israel, but there's also quite a bit said about the un and international community, as well as how the current siege might end.

it, unsurprisingly, is not an optimistic read:

But a far more common pattern has been a spiral of cynicism, with the current wave of mutual radicalization well underway before October 7 and seemingly unstoppable since then. It is not simply the parties themselves who have hurled themselves into this spiral; the peace process’s international sponsors (especially the United States) have spoken blithely of the two-state solution while rushing past every possible off-ramp for deepening confrontation. Actions such as the rejection of the outcome of the 2006 Palestinian elections, the strident militancy (and even retributive measures) against any invocation of international law, the capitulation to Israeli annexation, the embrace of the blockade of Gaza, the failure to engage Hamas on its 2017 political document, and the abandonment of Palestinian elections in 2021 all look like possible turning points that were not seriously challenged within official U.S. circles. A different approach at each of these points would have been risky, but the alternatives offered were not marginal ideas in unofficial policy circles—they were quietly discussed and sometimes openly advocated. But they were dead on arrival in officialdom, deemed politically impossible in Washington. And the pattern of whistling past the graveyard of the peace process continues. Many international commentators have drafted plans for economic and political reconstruction after the Gaza war based on the uncertain assumption that the war will have a clear end that allows for rebuilding. But even less realistically, they pile on a vague insistence that their massive projects to rebuild the status quo ante in terms of housing, infrastructure, and institutions be followed by an unspecified way to move beyond it. The alternative, they say, is endless war. Very few commentators realize that their supposed cure thus delivers a startling diagnosis identical to mine: Since they cannot deliver any credible long-term plan, their alternative of endless war is not a boogeyman but by far the most likely outcome.

[mercurygray]

Joan and Dick are hosting a dinner party, post-war obviously. What's on the menu, and who's attending? Bonus if you give out who's drinking what.

"Goodness, this is quite the spread, isn't it?" Marj said, letting Lip help her out of her coat in the entryway.

They were in Joan's DC apartment, Spring finally coming into full force in the streets outside. (They'd missed the cherry blossoms, sadly, but DC had other charms - Marj had been promised a weekend without children and a Senators game, which suited her just fine.)

"Did you really make all of this?" Eileen asked, quietly investigating the dining room as Dick (appropriately apron'd while his wife greeted guests at the door in black glace silk) brought in another covered dish from the kitchen. "You're getting to be quite domesticated in your old age, Mrs. Winters, I'm not sure that it suits you."

"Honor dictates that I admit I did not, in fact, make the food," Joan said with a pained smile. "We catered it in from The Dover. Their staff just dropped it by about a half an hour before you arrived and we've been keeping it warm in the oven."

"She did set the table, though," Dick said with a smile, pointing to the nearly palatial spread in the dining room, a crisp expanse of white linen adorned with eight settings in perfect order, what was obviously the good silver, and low bowls of flowers along the center, with tall wax tapers crowning it all. "And arranged the flowers, which I thought was very impressive."

"I hated that class," Joan said, by way of a reply, smiling at her husband in his shirtsleeves and bowtie. "Anyway, if anyone is disappointed by this announcement we haven't started eating yet. "

"I'm not," Harry announced blithely. "I almost stopped for burgers on the way in case it was inedible."

He got a shove from Kitty for that. They'd driven in this weekend just for this, the Welshes and the Liptons and Lew and Eileen, a chance for everyone to be together before the summer heat made Washington intolerable and Joan was back out for another story and Eileen's shooting schedule picked up again. "And what is the good chef at The Dover serving this evening, Joan?" Kitty asked, ever the diplomatic one.

"We're having smoked salmon croquettes, filets in beurre blanc, a green salad, and a trifle for dessert, and if it's not to your taste," she added, giving Harry a long, dangerous look, "I'd be happy to give you the address of my favorite burger joint."

"I think I'll live," Harry replied with a grin, helping Kitty into her own seat and making himself comfortable across the table.

"A toast, before we begin?" Joan asked, looking down the length of the table at her linens, her candles, the gleaming, steaming dishes, her friends, and at the end of it all, her husband, who'd hung up the apron and changed into his dinner jacket.

Dick picked up his wineglass, raising it to the table. "Absent friends."

"May we never forget them," Harry added, sotte voce, and everyone at the table nodded, the toast solemnly drunk.

A short war and a long peace, Joan thought to herself, the wine crisp on her tongue. "Happy Victory in Europe day, everyone."

[progressglobenews]

Consortium News:

It is easily imaginable that nuclear war could break out between Russia (and perhaps China) and the West, yet politicians continue to escalate tensions, place hundreds of thousands of troops at “high readiness,” and attack military targets inside Russia, even while ordinary citizens blithely go on with their lives. The situation is without parallel in history. Consider the following facts. A hostile military alliance, now including even Sweden and Finland, is at the very borders of Russia. How are Russian leaders — whose country was almost destroyed by Western invasion twice in the 20th century — supposed to react to this? How would Washington react if Mexico or Canada belonged to an enormous, expansionist, and highly belligerent anti-U.S. military alliance?

[tomorrowusa]

Republicans blocked a move in the Senate this week to guarantee the right to birth control in the US. This should tell you something about what a second Trump term would be like for reproductive freedom.

A reminder that Republican nominees to the US Supreme Court lied about upholding Roe v. Wade.

At their Senate confirmation hearings, Supreme Court Justices John Roberts, Samuel Alito, Amy Coney Barrett, Brett Kavanaugh, and Neil Gorsuch all said that Roe v. Wade was a legitimate precedent. Except, whoops, it turns out all these people were lying, at least when testifying to Congress about the common-law principle of stare decisis. Under our system, justices aren’t supposed to throw out precedent without a good reason, but as soon as they had the votes, they threw Roe in the garbage without a second thought. Only Clarence Thomas (who’d refused in his confirmation hearing to answer whether he thought Roe was valid precedent) was even slightly honest about his intentions. This matters because it’s an example of how Republicans smuggle their horrendously unpopular policies past the public. While activists wave gruesome pictures at rallies, harass people at abortion clinics, and occasionally murder doctors, the public faces of the Grand Old Party blithely admonish everyone to “Calm down. Roe v. Wade isn’t going anywhere.” Then, when the courts are sufficiently stacked with partisan hacks, they spring the trap.

Now Republicans are saying contraception is not in danger. Of course that's what they want you to think.

Today, the same thing is happening with contraception. Unhinged conservative fanatics are building up momentum to ban the most common types of contraception, principally by lying that they actually induce abortions somehow, and they are finding success at the state and local level. As Lauren Weber reports at The Washington Post, Republicans in both Missouri and Louisiana recently blocked pro-contraception bills by lying that they cause abortions. A right-wing Idaho think tank is urging the state to ban the morning-after pill and IUDs by claiming, falsely, that they are “abortifacients.” Iowa’s Republican government has already ended subsidies for emergency contraception for victims of sexual assault. And among the victories of the so-called Alliance Defending Freedom (ADF)—the most important right-wing legal group, which has won 15 Supreme Court cases since 2011—is Burwell v. Hobby Lobby, which ended the requirement for employer-based insurance to cover contraception.

Republicans are already looking at a 151 year old zombie law called the Comstock Act as an instrument to end reproductive freedom throughout the US.

The Comstock Act, the long-dead law Trump could use to ban abortion, explained

This is not at all far-fetched. A few months ago the GOP Arizona Supreme Court used an 1864 law to ban almost all abortions in the state.

A vote for Trump or his lickspittles in the GOP is a vote against reproductive freedom – including contraception. The only way to keep Republicans out of office is to vote Democratic.

[denimbex1986]

'Secret recordings of German scientists who were being held prisoner in Cambridgeshire during WWII are the basis of a new play at the Cambridge Arts Theatre.

Farm Hall tells the other side of the Oppenheimer story and is inspired by the true events that took place at Farm Hall in Godmanchester, between July 1945 and January 1946.

Christopher Nolan’s Oppenheimer depicts the American quest to build an atomic bomb during the Second World War. Oppenheimer’s overriding fear was that the Germans would get there first.

But In July 1945, as Oppenheimer was preparing to test an atomic bomb in the New Mexico desert, six of Germany’s top nuclear scientists – including three Nobel Prize winners - were detained by the British Secret Service and stowed safely in Farm Hall, a stately home in the Cambridge countryside.

Playwright Katherine Moar says: “It wasn’t planned that the play should come out at the same time as the Oppenheimer film, but it’s a very nice coincidence and it is very much the other side of the story. The driving force for the Manhattan Project to build a nuclear bomb, which was the subject of the Oppenheimer film, was, to a large extent, the fear that the Germans were going to get there first.

“This play is the German story. While Oppenheimer is doing the Trinity Test in New Mexico, the Germans are sitting in a country house in Cambridge, wondering what was going on in the outside world.”

Unbeknownst to the scientists, during their stay, every inch of Farm Hall was bugged and their every action recorded. They found themselves shut off from the outside world. Their only entertainment was some redacted newspaper, a broken piano and a copy of Noel Coward’s Blithe Spirit. But as the months went by, their attention turned to the ongoing war and thoughts of their broken homeland.

The scientists’ tranquil summer was shattered by the inconceivable news that the Americans had succeeded where the Germans had failed. The United States had not only built an atomic bomb, but had used one against Japan.

Katherine says: “I first heard about the transcripts of the German scientists’ conversations when I was studying for a history degree and was doing a year out at Georgetown in Washington DC. My tutor mentioned the existence of these transcripts, recorded conversations of the scientists held in Farm Hall. And I thought they just sounded really interesting. So I went to the library read them all in an evening. And one of the first things I thought was just that they would make the most brilliant play.”

The transcripts are British Secret Service translations of the Germans’ conversations and only represent around ten percent of the entire recording - the rest have been discarded or lost.

“The intelligence service only kept the parts they thought were relevant for British security, ” explains Katherine.

“When the scientists heard about the American bomb it was completely earth shattering to them. It was totally mind blowing. Because at the time, Germany was the best at nuclear physics. So it completely warped their sense of identity and self confidence.

“They thought they would be protected to a degree after the war because the Allies would be interested in what they knew about nuclear science and nuclear weapons. But then they realised that the Allies were so much further along than they were and that suddenly they were a bit useless and what does that mean for them? They were thinking, are we now just going to be killed because we’re not useful?”

There has been a suggestion that the German scientists knew how to make the bomb but were not making it for ethical reasons. However, according to Katherine the transcripts are unclear on that point.

“Historians knew for a long time that these transcripts existed, but they weren’t allowed to look at them until the 90s when they were declassified so people were able to tell their own stories before they were seen,” says Katherine, who read history at Cambridge University.

“And the German nuclear bomb project has always been shrouded in quite a lot of mystery about how far they got and whether they intentionally sabotaged the project. People thought the transcripts would clear this up, but they didn’t. The scientists are so shocked when they find out what the Americans have done it. They are saying: How is it possible? There’s just no way they could have done it; which makes you think, they must have thought it was impossible themselves.

“But then a few days later, Heisenberg, who was the leader of the German atomic bomb project, delivers a lecture to the other scientists where he explains how he thinks the Americans have built a bomb. And he gets pretty close to the mark.

“My personal opinion is when you know that something can be done, it becomes a lot easier to find the answer.

“One thing that really struck me is how ten people in a room essentially get to decide what history was because they were discussing ‘what are we going to say about our project? What we’re going to say that we did?’.

“It’s not totally explicit in the transcripts. You have to read between the lines. One of them says, ‘We weren’t trying to build a bomb anyway, we were trying to build a nuclear reactor. That was our whole project, this kind of machine that would be great for mankind rather than terrible for it’.

“And they talked about how history is going to remember that it was the Germans who tried to build a peaceful creation while the Americans built this ghastly weapon of war. So you can hear them trying to rewrite the narrative in real time.”

The play also shows the scientists trying to entertain themselves for months as they were cooped up in the house, putting on an all-male version of a Noel Coward play and holding races in the gardens.

“Some of the older scientists run around the garden in their underpants. They revert to being like little school boys. Sometimes they’re intentionally funny, and sometimes they’re kind of accidentally funny with how they fight and bicker and try and compete with each other.”

Katherine adds: “I don’t want to downplay what some of these men did and who they were, because some of them were card carrying Nazis, but I hope it’s quite a human story.

“And I think you can try and put yourself in these men’s shoes in the same way that Oppenheimer allows you to kind of see the human side of Manhattan Project story and how an individual deals with the repercussions of that kind of work.”...'